Everything Has Changed
by MisunderstoodSociopath
Summary: Who would ever have imagined that everything could go wrong. In one night, your whole life could change if one person made a mistake. When the police reach the scene of James' and Lily's deaths before Hagrid and Prof. McGonagall, Harry's and John's lives are both turned upside down...maybe for the better. Has nothing to do with the song by Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey peoples! For those of you who know me from one of my other stories: WELCOME BACK! For those of you who have never heard of me and just clicked on my story because it sounded interesting, good for you! I hope you enjoy it. Those returning readers: this may be the last update I do for a while. Life I getting really hectic right now and I have to focus on things that I wish didn't matter(but they do). I might manage to update a few times, but do not expect regular updating! I like to think I have a life besides school and FanFiction(which I really don't) so please bear with me. Please review and tell me if there is anything I need to fix! Or just review cause you loved it (cause I'm sure you will). Now enough of my ranting, let's get on to the story!**

**Note: if you're confused by the italics, they are thoughts.**

**another note: I haven't read Harry potter in a while so please excuse and correct me if I'm wrong about somethings. I have seen the movies much more recently and it's kind of hard to distinguish from them I my mind.**

Chapter 1

John stared out the window of his cab, watching all the people and signs whiz by. _Why can't I have a normal life like other people_? John thought. I _could have one if it weren't for Sherlock's bloody ego._

John chuckled to himself, and the cabbie looked at him strangely. "Sorry, where to?"

John cleared his throat. "Scotland Yard." Lestrade had called him about 5 minutes ago, telling to come down ASAP, and under no circumstances was he to bring Sherlock. He had sounded really stressed and drawn thin, so John had, of course, stopped everything he had been doing, which wasn't much, and grabbed a passing taxi on his way out of 221B Baker Street. Of course, Sherlock hadn't even noticed him leave, completely focused on some crazy experiment involving a tongue and a lighter.

John was glad to have a reason to get out of there. _He's going to stink up the_ _whole flat_. John sighed.

_This is my life now_.

The taxi pulled up to New Scotland Yard a few minutes later, and John hastily paid the cabbie and climbed out, slamming the door behind him. The taxi drove off.

As John walked up to the glass doors, he failed to notice the strangely dressed people watching him from around the corner.

"Is that him?" The huge man asked, nervously running a large finger through his scraggly beard.

"I do believe so." An older woman replied. "The detective just called the chap a few minutes ago and that fellow seems to be in a hurry. Plus, he looks like the kind of man you might call for something like this. He does look rather...maternal. Let's see what happens in the office."

The man nodded. "Alright, Minerva."

John, oblivious to the conversation about him, opened the doors and walked in. 'I wonder what could be so urgent that has Lestrade all anxious.'

The office was full of chatter, and as soon as John entered, people he had never seen before but obviously worked for the Yard came up to him and began to congratulate him.

"You're so lucky, John."

"I wish I were you."

"Why didn't he pick me? I have two other ones!"

"What? What did I do?" John asked in confusion, not understanding a word that had been said. _What does I've got two other ones mean? Two other what_?

They all looked at him and shook their heads. "You'll find out soon enough."

And Anderson wasn't helping even the slightest bit. As soon as the crowd ( if you could call it that ) of people saw Anderson coming round the bend, they all moved out of his way and went back to their normal business. Anderson had the biggest smirk on his face, maybe, the biggest one John had ever seen.

"Oh, you're going to love this." Anderson's sneered sarcastically, his voice like a huge mosquito right in his ear.

"What's going on?" John asked, but he doubted he'd get a straight answer.

Anderson sniggered. "You'll see."

S_omeday, I'm going to kick him in the balls. _John vowed.

As they walked up to Lestrade's office, John noticed that all the blinds were pulled shut. 'What the hell is going on?' Anderson knocked twice on the door, and Lestrade quickly opened it.

"Oh, thank God." Lestrade said, pulling him into the room and promptly slamming the door in Anderson's face.

"What in blazes is going on?" John asked, but before he could utter another syllable, Lestrade stripped his shoulders.

"I think I'm going mad."

John furrowed his brow and looked at Lestrade's bloodshot eyes and weary face. _Signs of increased hysteria and lack of sleep_. "Ok, Greg, have you had coffee this morning?"

"Not yet." Lestrade admitted.

"Good, we can't have you going caffeine crazy. ANDERSON!" He shouted the last bit, hoping for a response from outside. There wasn't.

Lestrade had let go of John's shoulders now. "ANDERSON!"

The door opened a wedge and Anderson stuck his head in. "Yes?"

"He needs tea. Just plain herbal tea. No cream, no sugar, no caffeine." John said.

Anderson looked at Lestrade, who gave him a pointed look, and with a roll off his eyes, he closed the door.

John turned to Lestrade. "Now care to tell me what's going on?"

Lestrade gestured to the chair opposite his. "Sit."

It was an one-word command, one that John was happy to comply with.

John sat down in the chair and watched Lestrade in curiosity as the head detective sat down. The man's desk was covered with all kinds of clutter: open files with pages spilling out, pictures strewn everywhere and drawings and notes drawn in dry erase. He saw a large black object under Lestrade's desk, and his curiosity peaked. "What's under your desk?"

Lestrade sighed and reached down to grab it. "That's why I asked you here."

He lifted the object up off the floor, revealing...

a baby carrier.

With a full on baby in it.

John immediately shot to his feet. "No , Lestrade, no! Absolutely not!"

"I haven't even told you-" Lestrade exclaimed, but John cut him off.

"I know what you're going to say and the answer is no!" John protested, just as Anderson came in with a steaming cup and saucer.

John took a deep breath and grabbed the tea from Anderson, nodding and muttering a quiet thanks. Anderson's as smart enough to get his little arse out of there as fast as his little legs would carry him, slamming the door behind him.

John walked over to Lestrade and handed the tea to him, muttering an apology under his breath.

Lestrade cleared his throat. "Thanks."

John sat down and started over. "What do you want me to do with a child?" Then his eyes widened. "He isn't yours...is he?"

"Gods above, no!" Lestrade exclaimed, taking a sip of the searing hot tea and placing it back in its saucer. "John, I want YOU to take care of the baby."

John was stunned. "Why?" Was all he could get out.

"Because I'm desperate." Lestrade said, setting the tea on his desk and leaning forward. "I haven't gotten a wink of sleep in the last 24 hours, and I need to be at my best. I'm working on a really strenuous case right now, and I need someone trustworthy to take care of 'im while I'm working. As soon as I finish this case, I'll find a proper home for him."

"Keep in mind, I do live with Sherlock." John pointed out.

Lestrade chuckled. "Yes, I remember."

John cleared his throat. "Why not any of your other officers?"

"You're joking, right? Anderson, with a baby? His wife would climb up the walls!" Lestrade smiled sadly. "You're the one I trust most."

John sighed. _What am I getting myself into_? "What's his name?"

Lestrade opened his desk drawer and handed John a slim Manila folder. "Name's Harold Potter, or Harry for short. Son of James and Lily Potter. We found them both dead in their house last night."

"What, and the killer left this poor bugger alone? Why the hell would he do that?"

Lestrade cringed. "He didn't exactly leave him alone."

John peered at the baby with a new curiosity. He had sparkling green eyes and mop of black hair. John gently pushed the hair out of the boys eyes and blinked when he saw the scar.

It was a jagged line of red, relatively fresh and puffy. "Is that a lightning bolt?"

"Yup." Lestrade sighed. "And I have no bloody idea what happened to the parents. No mortal wounds on either of them, just a couple bruises. I already had Ms. Hooper check for internal injuries or any other sign that could tell us what happened; there was none. Both of them were completely healthy. It's a mystery."

"Why are you telling me this?" John asked, going over all the facts in his head. He kept on coming back to the same thing. _No_ _indications that the couple are actually dead, but they are._

"Because I trust-"

"No, I mean why not Sherlock?" John interrupted. "We all know he's Mr. Crimey-Wimey detector, so why so secretive?"

Lestrade sighed and scratched his head. It looked like he was contemplating whether to tell John something or not. With a nod, he stood up and opened a large filing cabinet. He pulled out a large evidence bag with what looked to be two large sticks inside. He set it down on his desk and slumped back in his chair again.

"What is this?" John asked, picking up the bag and peering at the strange sticks inside. One was quite long and thin, with some sort if handle carved into the wood. The same for the other one; not quite as long but just as thin. Both had delicate cracks running halfway down the wood. John could see tiny hairs poking out oft he fissures. _What the heck? They must have been involved in some crazy business._

"This belonged to James and Lily Potter." Lestrade said, steepling his fingers as Sherlock did occasionally. "We found them in their hands when we arrived at the scene."

"They look like some sort of...wands."

Lestrade grunted, leaning back in his chair. "Donovan thinks they were part of some sort of crazy cult. Anderson thinks they were extremely high or drunk. We didn't find anything you could call recreational in their systems, and only a bit of alcohol, probably from dinner."

John frowned. "Can I...?"

"Knock yourself out." Lestrade said, holding his hands behind his head in curiosity.

John opened the bag, gently slipping the larger stick out. Wand. Whatever it was. It felt light and easy to handle. He fingered the handle, holding it the way he thought a magic fanatic might to cast a 'magic spell.' He waved it around, laughing inwardly at how stupid he must look to Lestrade. Suddenly, the painting that hung on the wall flew off its nail, crashing into the side of the desk and falling into the garbage bin.

John looked at Lestrade in surprise, gingerly placing the stick bag. "Let's put that away for now."

Harry giggled in delight, clapping his hands and smiling widely, showing two pearly white teeth.

Lestrade snapped his fingers. "I knew I was forgetting!" He began to search through the pile of photographs on his desk, finding the ones he wanted and handing them to John. "Those were taken with a pedestrian's mobile the night the Potters died. Said she heard some strange noises coming from the house and wanted to check to see if everything was alright. At least that's what she says..."

"Who is she?" John asked as he took the pictures, waiting for an answer before he looked at them.

"Bellatrix Lestrange." Lestrade said doubtfully.

John laughed and looked at the pictures. He was looking at a small-ish house with shuttered windows. It looked quite nice, except for the sickly green light shining through the windows. He flipped the next one; a picture of the swirling dark mass breaking through the upstairs window and flying off into the night. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could start to see a face. He looked up at Lestrade and understood why he was so tentative to tell Sherlock. He had this wild look inside and John said, "you're not actually thinking-"

"-John," Lestrade interrupted leaning forward and bringing his voice down to a whisper. "what if magic is real?"

**And that is all for now! Please let me know if I've made any grammar mistakes or just stupid mistakes So I can improve it. Thanks!**

**P.S.: mistake about bellatrix's name was fixed.**

**P.P.S. : I will probably be updating this weekend so do'nt get all jittery :) thank you to everyone who has reviewed and favorited/followed! you give me purpose in life and the motivation to actually write more. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry for such the long wait guys. Almost two weeks. Wow. Thanks for being patient. And you know why I'm so happy? THERES STILL PEOPLE READING IT EVEN NOW! Supercalafragilisticexpialadocious, YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING! Wow. That's all I can say. Wow. This is the best response I've gotten...ever. So give yourself a pat on the back. Then turn your head to the left. Now to the right. I just slapped you. Take no offense- I just like slapping people. Now, onto the reviewers! Thank you to all 15 of you! You guys help me write more when I'm bored to death instead of wasting my time on the internet! Just a general note to all those guest reviewers: if you actually give yourselves a name it's a lot easier to address you... So- the first guest reviewer! Thank you for being my first reviewer! As for your question, you will soon find out how much Sherlock and Mycroft know. Patience. To mervoparkite: Your review was music to my ears. Thank you for the high praise. All The Pretty Horses: your name is just awesome. I thought someone might notice Mr. Crimey-Wimey Detector :D.**

**Ok that's enough of that. All this thanking people is making me hungry. Where's the potato chips when you need them...? Anyway, I'm starting a contest! All those people who want bonus content listen closely. Whoever can submit the best scene of Sherlock meeting tom Riddle for the first time will get extra content and ... Wait for it... A PROLOUGE. Ooooohhh aaaaahhhhh. The best scene might even make it into my story... to submit just review or pm me.**

**A bit of good/bad news: I just got the lead role of Lady Macbeth in the Shakespearian play Macbeth so I have a lot of work ahead of me. Updates might get further apart, but if I get more reviews I will try to post earlier each time.**

**But now you're bored and anxious for the next chapter, so here you go. Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 2**

As soon as Lestrade uttered those fateful words, a loud scampering noise sounded on the window ledge outside Lestrade's office. The detective went over to the window to check it out, and when his back was turned, John took out his mobile and snapped two quick pictures of the images in his hand. Then he quickly pocketed his phone, just barely escaping discovery as Lestrade turned. "Just the bloody pigeons."

As the week went on, John would wish over and over again that it truly had been those bloody pigeons.

* * *

Unfortunately, the scuffle outside the window had been a silver tabby cat precariously perched on the sill, momentarily losing its footing. The cat regained its balance and nimbly ran along the ledge, gracefully jumping down to the next level and then the ground. There, it shook itself out and spun, flicking its tail. Then it stood up on its hind legs, its limbs growing and changing shape. The hair on its back and paws receded into its skin, which was quickly changing from a light silver and black to a peachy white. Its claws elongated into spindly old fingers, and its back paws into small black shoes. Its ears migrated south and became rounded at the top, and its eyes changed into tiny ovals. A dark green pointed hat rested atop its head, matching the swirling green robes around the figure. When the transformation was complete, the figure brushed the remaining cat hair off its long sleeves.

"Professor!" A large man shouted, rumbling over to the figure.

Professor McGonagall shushed him. "Quiet, Hagrid, please. We can't have any Muggles discovering us snooping around."

"Sorry," Hagrid apologized. He nodded towards the building. "How's it going in there?"

"Not well." The professor shook her head. "The situation is far worse than I thought. The detective is driving himself mad, trying to convince himself magic isn't real, but he has no other explanation. And did you know they had pictures of He Who Must Not Be Named?! This has gotten completely out of hand. I fear we may have to do a complete memory wipe."

Hagrid's bushy eyebrows shot up. "That's not good. If He finds out..."

**(A/N: At this point no one knows that Harry has weakened Voldemort and driven him back. Just wanted to make sure that was clear.)**

"These Muggles won't last a chance." Minerva sighed. "Although, it was quite peculiar. The one the detective called, John, I believe, he waved James' wand around, and he made a painting fly off the wall."

"You think he could be a wizard?" Hagrid asked.

"In all my years of teaching at Hogwarts I have never seen him. Although, a lot of wizards went to Hogwarts. It could be possible he's one of the few I never met. He could've gone to Durmstrang..."

Hagrid sighed. "How are we supposed to get Harry from him? It's an impossible task Albus has given us!"

"If we had just gotten there a bit quicker, maybe this wouldn't have happened." Minerva looked pointedly at Hagrid.

"Don't blame me! It's not my fault the bike broke down!"

But the professor was no longer listening to Hagrid's complaints. She grabbed a stray newspaper off the dirty alley floor, shaking it out and gazing at the front page.

When Hagrid noticed what she was doing, he asked, "What're you looking at?"

Minerva pointed to a picture of John and another man standing side by side, smiling for the cameras. The other man was about a head taller than John and had a mop of curly black hair and icy cold blue eyes. The title of the article read "The Internet Sensation Sweeping the Country."

"I know I've heard that name before," Minerva murmured. "Holmes... I just can't place it! Do you remember anything, Hagrid?"

Hagrid shrugged. "It rings a bell, but nothing comes to mind."

"Well we'd better start there," Minerva decided, pointing to the given address: 221B Baker Street.

* * *

Back upstairs, John gently set the pictures back on Lestrade's desk. "Don't you think you might be going a bit too far on this one, Greg?"

Lestrade looked sharply at him. "I'm _not_ crazy."

"I never said you were," John sighed, "but don't you think you need to take a few steps back and look at all the facts? We can't jump to conclusions."_I'm__starting to sound like Sherlock. I never thought the day would come when I would actually need his...oh where am I going with this? Nowhere._

Lestrade took a deep breath. "Maybe you're right." He ran a hand across his face, rubbing his tired eyes. "Maybe I need to call that Bellatrix lady in again."

"See, you're already doing great. Just think things through, and maybe, just maybe, you can solve this. Now, I gotta dash..." Just as John was standing up, Lestrade cleared his throat.

"Don't think I've forgotten about the kid, John. I'm not that thick."

"Damn," John muttered. "Why can't you just hand him over to Social Services or whatever?"

"I just...I dunno, I just have this feeling he'll be safer with you." Lestrade chuckled. "Isn't that completely mad?"

John had no idea what to say. "Erm...I dunno."

There was silent for a moment. "Look, Greg, if you really want me to take h-"

"Great!" Lestrade exclaimed, jumping out of his chair and shoving the baby carrier into John's arms. "Oh, thanks a bunch, mate, you have no idea..." Lestrade began to shove John out the door with renewed energy, his eyes bright. John tried to get a word in, but Lestrade kept yammering on about how he was going to break this case wide open now that he wasn't weighed down by the poor little bugger and how grateful he was to John. John soon found himself outside Greg's office and the door slamming behind him.

Anderson leaned against the glass of Lestrade's cubical, his legs crossed and a large smirk on his face. "Oh, the media's gonna be all over this. Newspapers, magazines..."

"Stuff it, Philip," John snapped, quickly walking away to try and hide his flushed cheeks. _Just another reason for the public to think Sherlock and I are a couple. Fantastic._ John imagined it like a gossip magazine, with the Truth! Or Rumor! section and a big picture of him and Sherlock stamped with a big Maybe!

Not that he knew anything about gossip magazines.

"I'm not actually gay, you know," John said, desperately trying to ignore Anderson, who was still following him down the hall after John had clearly dismissed him.

"Well maybe Sherlock is." Anderson shrugged. "Never thought of that did you?"

John brushed the thought away with a blink of an eye. "He's not gay. He told me."

"Psh. He could always be lying. It's what he does best."

_Sherlock wouldn't lie to me about something like that, would he?_When John turned to face Anderson, he found that the man was nowhere in sight. He took advantage of the moment, getting out of Scotland Yard as quickly as possible with all the people crowding around him trying to see the baby. He finally made it into the fresh air, breathing in a sigh of relief. He waved down a taxi, opening the door and awkwardly maneuvering the baby carrier inside. "Baker Street."

The driver looked back at him for a moment, shrugged, then pulled out into the busy streets of London.

The drive was as uneventful as always, and the baby -_Harry, for God's sake, his name is Harry-_was quiet the whole way. Which, unfortunately, gave John time to think. _I'm going to have to go to the store. God knows what Sherlock's got in the fridge. And he'll have to sleep somewhere..._But John was getting ahead of himself. Greg was working on the case. As soon as he cracked it, he would find a better home for Harry, and everything would go back to normal. This wasn't permanent. Hopefully.

John tried to relax as the taxi wove its way through the crowded streets, finally coming to a stop right in front of 221 Baker Street. John paid the man and reached around the baby carrier, opening the door and grabbing the carrier with both hands. It took him a moment to fit the bulky carrier through the door, but he finally managed it, slamming the door behind him. _This is going to be a long week._

John turned to the door, taking out his keys to unlock it, but when he pushed on the door, he found it open. _Something's not right._John quickly slid inside, calling, "Mrs. Hudson?"

John sighed in relief when he heard the old woman's voice reply, "You've got clients upstairs with Sherlock."

John furrowed his brow. _No one's scheduled anything for today. But then again, no one ever does..._ Just to be careful, John carefully climbed the stairs, avoiding the creaky fourth step and making sure the carrier didn't bang on the banister. "Sherlock?"

"John?" The baritone replied.

John said a silent thank you. "Can I speak with you for a moment?" There was no response. "Privately."

"Anything you have to say can be said in front of _them._"

John had learned from Sherlock how to distinguish someone's emotions by their tone of voice. Simple things like how fast they spoke or whether their sentences ended higher pitched than they started, things that 'Any ordinary person could perceive if they were actually trying.' as Sherlock had put it. The way Sherlock had spoken just then, the way he had punctuated the word _them,_made John very nervous. Sherlock was very uncomfortable. Maybe even...afraid. John's mind shifted into overdrive. He didn't have any weapon on him and he was carrying a twelve pound baby in a five pound baby carrier. What the hell was he supposed to do?

John calmly ascended the rest of the stairs, trying to calm his pounding heart. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he slowly pushed the door to 221B open...

Sherlock sat in his armchair, his feet tapping the floor and his fingers pounding anxiously on the arms. When he spotted John he stopped tapping, silently telling John, _this is not ok, not ok at all._An old woman stood next to him, one hand on the back of Sherlock's chair. She had a kindly face, reminding him a bit of Mrs. Hudson. Except for the half-moon spectacles resting on the tip of her nose and the look of a college professor who was not amused. At all. She had the air of superiority about her, as if the Queen herself was in the room. If the Queen was wearing dark green _robes_ and a_pointed_ hat, that is. She was about to open her mouth when a loud bang sounded in the kitchen. John raised an eyebrow towards their small dinette to see a giant man with tangled black hair searching through their cabinets. "Haven't you got _any_food in here? I'm absolutely famished," he grumbled loudly. "Haven't had a bite to eat since we left the Headmaster's office."

The woman cleared her throat. "Hagrid." The big man turned and saw John. "Oh. Hello, there."

"Can I help you?" John asked in the kindest voice he could. _Yes_. _The bravery of the soldier._He heard Mycroft's words echo through his brain the first time they had met. _Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?_John quickly pushed the thought from his mind.

The woman drew a long stick from the folds of her velvety green robes, not unlike the ones John had just seen in Lestrade's office. She flicked her wrist, and the door flew shut, clicking quietly into place. "Have a seat, John."

John was about to say 'I don't wanna sit down.' but Sherlock flared his eyes at John. _Now is not the time, John._John abruptly closed his mouth and sat down in his armchair, gently placing the baby carrier on the floor beside him. He folded his hands in his lap and looked the woman straight in the face. "Are you part of the cult, then?"

"I beg your pardon?" The woman asked, her northern accent becoming more apparent by the minute. She hadn't moved from Sherlock's side.

"The cult the Potters were in. Lily and James. Ring any bells?"

The woman sighed. "Of course you would ask the one question that is far too complicated to answer." She looked at the big man who was trying to stand still behind John. "This is Hagrid, as you already know. I'm Professor McGonagall, or just Professor. We are here to retrieve the boy."

"His name's Harry," John said, closing his eyes in frustration. _All this about one bloody boy._ "Why?"

"It's not safe for him here." The professor said. "We're here to take him to his aunt and uncle's house, where he'll be safe for now."

"He has...other family?" John exclaimed. The professor nodded. "Then why the hell have I got him?"

"Please watch your language around me, young man," Professor McGonagall commanded. "And I have no idea whatsoever why your detective friend would pass Harry on to you instead of calling his aunt."

"Can I ask one tiny question?" Sherlock intervened, speaking for the first time. "You weren't actually going to keep the child, were you?"

"I was planning on it, yes." John looked at Sherlock, who sat back in his chair and shook his head. "Why on earth are you shaking your head like that?"

"You. Take care of a baby." Sherlock began to chuckle, but when the professor gave him a sharp look, he cleared his throat. "Sorry."

John's eyebrows shot up. Never in his life had he seen Sherlock Holmes apologize to anyone other than himself. Sherlock knew this woman, and he knew her well.

"But I still don't understand," John said, turning to the professor. "What's with the sticks?"

"It's magic, John." Sherlock stated as if that was clear as day. "Before you start, yes magic is real, yes the Potters were wizards- well James was a wizard, Lily was a witch- yes, that means the baby is most likely a wizard and yes, Minerva could kill you on the spot. Does that sound about right?" He asked, looking expectantly at the professor.

"Who the hell's Minerva?" John asked.

Sherlock looked at him. "Of all the intelligent questions you could've asked..."

"Mr. Holmes, would you kindly roll up your sleeve?" The professor asked.

It clearly wasn't meant as a question.

"Why?" Sherlock asked. His eye twitched, and John knew something bad was about to happen.

"I didn't ask you to respond, Mr. Holmes, I asked you to roll up your sleeve. Do it now."

Sherlock looked at John. John gave a slight nod. Sherlock regrettably unbuttoned his cuff and rolled his sleeve up to his elbow.

Swirling black ink covered Sherlock's forearm, forming into a skull. The ink ran down his arm and twisted to make the body of a snake with a head at the end, full of sharp fangs. John had never seen that before. He had seen Sherlock's forearms plenty of times from watching his friend use nicotine patches, but never had he seen a tattoo.

The professor acted with lighting speed, twirling her stick (or was it a wand) and shouting, "Incarcerous!"

Sherlock was suddenly enveloped in a tangle of ropes, encasing him completely and making it impossible for him to move. John suddenly became aware of a digging sensation in his lower back and he quickly grabbed the familiar object from the folds of his armchair.

For once he was happy Sherlock hid guns around the house.

He stood up and pointed the pistol straight at the professor's head. "Let him go right now or I will shoot you dead."

"John-" the professor started, but he cut the woman off. "I'm a soldier, Professor. I know how to use this and, most importantly, I'm willing to. Actually, I'm buzzing to use this right now. So I'm telling you, release him right now so I don't have to."

The professor looked at Hagrid, who shook his large head. "Sorry, lad. You're friend here's a Death Eater. We're doing what's best for you."

"Maybe if you would let him speak he could explain!" John exclaimed.

And then Harry started to cry. It started out as a small sniffle, then crescendoed into a full on howl. He kicked around in the carrier, wildly rocking it back and forth. Before he knew what he was doing, John turned his head...

"Expelliarmus!"

John's gun flew out of his hand, clattering loudly to the ground only a few meters away.

"Blimey." John said, slowly raising his hands. "Why don't we just put that down now..."

"I'm sorry, John, but this is for the best." The professor said. With a flick of her wand she said, "Confundo."

John had no time to do anything. No time to move, no time to even blink. It hit him like a blow to the face, and he stumbled back, his vision whirling. The ceiling was suddenly on the floor and vise-versa. He had absolutely no idea where he was, and he highly doubted he could answer a question coherently. He abruptly sat down in something cushy and familiar, although he couldn't place what it was. He was vaguely aware of people moving around him and a little voice screaming. Then he heard a soft voice through the confusion. "Sleep, John. Sleep."

John's eyelids fluttered. _A quick nap wouldn't hurt, now would it?_

And then he drifted off into the deep abyss of sleep.

**A/N: Wow, looooooooong chapter. Sorry about that. Hopefully this will quench your thirst for this story for a little while. I don't know when I might be able to update again, so don't expect anything super soon. Hope you liked it! Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: 100+ followers! This is awesome! Never in my life would I have thought that this would happen to me. This is like a dream come true, guys. To know that so many people read and like my story is a huge honor...blah blah blah ok we're done with that now. On to the surprise of last chapter!**

**Sherlock being a Death Eater was a last minute surprise that I thought of, but I assure you, more will be explained in later chapters.**

**As for the contest, I got entry from CPG and it was freaking awesome, so you guys are gonna need to up your game if you wanna win this thing ...OH YAH EVERYONE GIVE A ROUND OF APPLAUSE TO MY BETA CHICKWITHTHEPURPLEGUITAR! You're amazing, and thank you so much for putting up with my antics. ^.^**

**On that note, NOTE FROM THE BETA: Hey, guys, it's ChickWithThePurpleGuitar, MS's beta. I need to have a little talk with you guys about love. Story love, to be precise. Now, there are two kinds of story love. Review love, and Favorite/Follow love. When one (meaning you guys) favorite/follow a story, it acknowledges that you like it and you would like to see it continued. But when you **_**review **_**a story, it tells the author that you liked it, and **_**why **_**you liked it, or that you didn't like it and **_**why **_**you didn't like it. Our dear MisunderstoodSociopath here can't continue to make things that you guys obviously like if she doesn't know what you do and don't like about it. So, my point here, over 100 followers but 22 reviews is beautiful but makes me physically sad. So PLEASE guys, IF ONLY FOR YOUR OWN BENEFIT, review.**

**ALRIGHT ON TO CHAPTER 3**

Chapter 3

John slowly awoke, and took a deep breath in. He gagged, the awful smell hitting him all at once. He blinked, trying to see what the offending stench was.

Held right in front of his face was a burnt tongue. And it smelled God-awful.

"John!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, immediately removing the tongue from John's face. "Oh, thank goodness, I thought you were dead!"

"No, not dead," John muttered, blinking the spots from his vision. "Is that the..."

Mrs. Hudson sighed, placing the tongue back on the kitchen table with her tongs. "I'm afraid so."

"Where's Sherlock?" John asked, suddenly remembering what had transpired before he had fallen asleep.

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Those clients of yours said that he had just run off. I hate it when he does that."

John stopped dead. "What did you say?"

"Your clients, the rather large fellow and the woman? They left a little while ago. The man was carrying a big bundle of ropes, and I asked him where he got them but he said he was doing Sherlock a favor. What, is something wrong?"

John shot to his feet. "I need to go out. Under no circumstances are you to open the door for anyone except myself, understood?"

"Not even Sherlock, dear?"

"Not unless he's with me." John stopped, furrowing his brow. "Harry."

"Yes, that tall one was quite hairy, wasn't he?"

John grabbed his gun up off the floor. "That's not...never mind, just lock the door after I leave, alright?" He ran down the stairs before Mrs. Hudson could answer and rushed out the door. He took out his mobile and dialed the first number he thought of.

"Its funny, I was just about to call you," Mycroft answered after the second ring.

John hailed an oncoming taxi. "Yeah, well now you don't have to. I'm coming over."

"And why would that be?" Mycroft asked inquisitively.

"I know this is going to sound crazy," John started, "but I think Sherlock's been kidnapped by wizards."

"What?" John could feel Mycroft tense up.

"And a little baby, maybe a few months old."

"I'll send a car," Mycroft said.

"It's ok, I've already got a cab," John told him, swinging into the back seat of the black cab.

"Do not speak of this to anyone," Mycroft warned, and then he hung up.

John pocketed his phone, then told the cabbie the address of Mycroft's last known office. The driver pulled away from the curb, and John sat back to think.

_This is absolutely mental. How could one baby have caused all of this? Why is he so important to those people? And how did that woman do that?_

_I wonder if I should tell Lestrade. He's already going bonkers thinking magic may be real, it'll be good for him to know he's not insane. But I don't want him to get involved with all of this. I'll call him after I talk to Mycroft._

_And where did Sherlock get that bloody tattoo? I've seen his arm plenty of times from watching him do nicotine patches, but I've never seen it before! Did he just get it, or has he been hiding it from me all this time? And why did that professor woman react so strongly to it? She looked as if she had seen the devil himself. _

All these questions swirled around in his brain, yet he had no answers for them. Hopefully Mycroft could explain what was going on before his brain exploded.

•••••

The constant tug of the ropes around him was starting to bug Sherlock, and his blood flow was beginning to become irregular. All the jostling by Hagrid was getting on his nerves, and Sherlock had had enough. He opened his mouth to cast a spell when the familiar sensation came over him.

It felt like he was the last bit of toothpaste in a tube, painstakingly being squeezed out bit by bit. The world swirled around him, the flying colors making his head spin. Suddenly, he felt a large rip, and he bit his tongue as the sensation finally ended.

Sherlock's leg was on fire. He could feel something that was undoubtedly blood begin to trickle down his leg, seeping into his pants. _Not now...I've apparated millions of times before, this is not the time for splinching. _

"Heaven's above, Minerva! What's the meaning of this?" The voice was warped with age, but Sherlock recognized it instantly. He tried to find his voice, but found that he couldn't speak.

"Albus, we found the boy in the residence of a Death Eater." Minerva said gravely. Sherlock heard his old professor set the baby carrier down, and he cleared his throat, once again trying to speak.

"Professor Dumbledore..."

There was a moment of silence. "Yes?" The old man replied.

"I've been sp-" Sherlock cleared his throat again, the smell of blood beginning to clog up his nose. "Splinched."

Only then did Hagrid realize that there was blood seeping through the ropes and onto his huge shoulder. "Oh!" He exclaimed, setting the bundle of ropes down on the floor as gently as possible, which wasn't very gentle. Sherlock knew he would have a number of bruises all over his body the next day. He heard footsteps near his head, and the ropes instantly vanished, leaving Sherlock looking up at the kindly face of Albus Dumbledore.

"Well then, Mr. Holmes, what a pleasant surprise." Albus smiled, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice at all. He moved out of Sherlock's sight, and Sherlock saw the familiar surroundings of the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, the very place he had spent seven long years as a student. _Why in the world would Professor McGonagall bring me here? There are students that could be endangered by a Death Eater. _Sherlock bit his lip as Dumbledore pulled the torn clothing away from his wound, igniting a flare of pain. "Mmm, that's quite a splinch. Quite a bad one indeed. Minerva, would you go and fetch Madame Pomfrey for me? I'm afraid this is beyond my capabilities."

"I'm fine, Professor." Sherlock said, pushing off the ground and attempting to stand up. His leg gave out on him, and Hagrid just barely managed to grab him before he fell on his face. Minerva opened her mouth to apologize, but Sherlock interjected with a wince. "Please don't apologize, you were only doing what you thought was right. Which was completely stupid, by the way."

Minerva frowned. "Yes, I remember you now. How could I ever forget?"

Sherlock gave her a half smile as he grabbed the large wooden desk for support and shooed Hagrid off.

"Sherlock," Dumbledore said, "can you explain why you have the Mark of Lord Voldemort on your arm?"

Sherlock looked at Dumbledore bitterly. "You know why, Albus. You saw Tom and ne as kids, make a deduction. Or are you too old for that type of thing now?"

"Mr. Holmes!" McGonagall exclaimed, but Dumbledore shushed her.

"Minerva, I believe I told you to go and fetch Madame Pomfrey, did I not?"

"Yes, you did." McGonagall frowned. She took a deep breath and gestured to Hagrid. Hagrid looked to Dumbledore, who gave him a pointed look. Hagrid turned and walked out of the room behind McGonagall, closing the door behind him.

Sherlock watched Dumbledore closely, trying to see what his motives were. Even as a teenager, Sherlock had never been able to see what the wise man had planned; maybe now that he was more experienced he would have better luck.

Dumbledore moved over to the baby carrier resting on his desk, smiling when he saw Harry's sleeping face peeping out of the blankets. "It's amazing how a baby can be so unaware of what's happening around him, yet still be attuned to the emotions of the people he's involved with, don't you think?"

"Mmm," Sherlock replied. "Professor, I don't see any point to me staying any longer unless you require my services, which I'm assuming you don't, so I'll be leaving now."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Actually, Sherlock, there is an important matter I need to discuss with you."

"Oh?" Sherlock said raising an eyebrow.

"Have a seat." Dumbledore gestured to the worn chair opposite his desk, sitting down in his own high backed chair.

_I'm in trouble. _Sherlock thought. None the less, he sat down in the chair and prepared himself for what Dumbledore was going to say.

Dumbledore took a few moments to collect his thoughts before speaking to Sherlock. "I'm assuming you know who the child is."

"Of course," Sherlock replied.

"But you weren't aware of Voldemort's plans."

This was the question that Sherlock had been waiting for. He stayed silent.

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "When was the last time you saw Tom Riddle, William Sherlock Holmes?"

Dumbledore was using a spell on him, that much was obvious. Sherlock knew the old man didn't trust him, so he answered the question. "I haven't seen Tom Riddle in a very long time, _Professor."_

"And when was the last time you saw Lord Voldemort?"

"I don't take kindly to Truth-Speaking Charms, Albus."

"I know. Answer the question."

Sherlock sighed. He knew he couldn't lie to the man, especially with the Charm he had placed on him. He had resorted to trusting the professor after many failed attempts at lying to him about various things, but he was different now. He was no longer a foolish child, seeking the approval of others, something that Mycroft had never even thought about offering him. He opened his mouth, and said, " Three days ago."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "Tell me what happened."

"I'd rather not," Sherlock replied simply.

"Sherlock, you must tell me! This information will help clear your case in more ways than you think."

"Mmmmmm, I highly doubt it will considering Professor Snape has just called the Aurors."

Exactly on cue, Snape burst through the door, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. "Albus!"

Before he could say anything else, Sherlock stood up, rolling his sleeves down. "I really wouldn't."

Snape lowered his wand. "Mr. Holmes."

"Severu,"" Sherlock replied cooly.

"When I heard Minerva had caught a Death Eater, I was expecting some low-life, not someone as high up as THE Sherlock Holmes." Snape smiled. "How did you manage that?" Then he saw Sherlock's leg. "How on Earth are you still standing?"

Sherlock grabbed the back of the chair, his leg buckling underneath him. He had completely forgotten about the splinch. "You know, I was beginning to wonder that myself."

Snape slid his wand back into the fold of his robe, kneeling down next to Sherlock. Sherlock stiffened as he peeled the fabric away. Snape's eyebrow's shot up. "Have you called Madame Pomfrey?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, of course, I sent Minerva to fetch her."

Snape nodded. "In the meantime, you were obviously in the middle of something, Professor, do continue."

•••••

When John's taxi pulled up to the familiar white building, John paid the cabbie, thinking _I really need to get a car. _As he handed the driver the money, their hands brushed, and the man drew back in surprise. "Oi, yah shocked me!"

"Sorry, mate." John said, handing the man the money more carefully. The man have him a look, and John hurriedly got out of the cab. He slammed the door and turned to see Anthea standing right in front of him. "Oh, hello."

For once, Mycroft's assistant looked up from her mobile. "Oh, John." _She remembers my name! _John thought in surprise. "I dunno what you said to him, but Mycroft's been locked in his office ever since you called."

This was apparently big news, otherwise Anthea wouldn't be telling him. "Has he really?" John asked, biting back a laugh. He stopped and cleared his throat. "Well, I should probably go and talk to him then."

"Yeah." Anthea said, averting her gaze back to her mobile.

John stood there for a minute, unsure of what to do. Anthea looked up at him. "The door's open."

"Oh." John said, walking up to the door. He turned, furrowing his brow. "What exactly are you doing out here?"

"'Making sure no one unauthorized comes in." Anthea replied simply.

John didn't ask. He walked into Mycroft's building, thinking it was foolish of Mycroft to only have one person guarding the door...

And that's when the world went black.

When the hands were finally removed from his eyes and mouth, John opened his eyes to see Mycroft seated in his high backed chair behind his desk, fingering a worn book.

The door slammed behind him, and John heard a lock click into place. "Was that really necessary?" John asked when he saw that they were alone. Before he could say anything else, Mycroft interrupted him, saying,

"Hush, John." The older Holmes brother sighed, running his thumb down the worn spine of the book. John tried to see what the title was, but couldn't. "Have a seat."

John could tell Mycroft was having one of his moody days, so he sat down in the chair opposite him.

"Do you have the pictures, then?" Mycroft asked, placing the book face down on his desk.

John took his mobile out of his pocket, reluctantly handing it to Mycroft. _Of course he knows about the pictures, he's Mycroft. As soon as something happens he knows about it. _

Mycroft immediately bypassed the password and began typing around on John's phone. John made a mental note to change his password, but Mycroft said, "I'll just figure out what the next one is, John. It's really not that hard to guess."

Unfortunately, John had become adjusted to the Holmes brothers' antics, and although he was slightly perturbed, he didn't show it.

Mycroft tapped away until he found what he was looking for and sighed heavily. "Just as I suspected." Mycroft handed John his phone back and gazed at the old book again. "Do you know how long it's been since I heard the word wizard?"

John opened his mouth to answer, but Mycroft interjected. "Don't...answer that." He drew a hand over his face. "Oh, John, what have you done?"

"What have _I _done?" John exclaimed, raising his voice. "I have no idea what the hell's going on, and you ask me what have _I _done? I just saw your brother get dragged off in a tangle of ropes and had an old woman completely incapacitate me! Not great, Mycroft! I came here for answers, but if you're just going to blame me for everything that's happened, then I'm going to leave! And what are you doing with that bloody book anyhow..." John picked the offending book up, his voice leaving him when he saw the title.

_A History of Magic._

John looked up at Mycroft. "You really do like getting into trouble, don't you?" Mycroft said sadly.

**A/N: Sorry for the abrupt ending there, I got LAZY. Will try to update as soon as possible, but don't count on it. In the meantime, PLEASE REVIEW!**

**Note from the beta: Yeah, seriously guys, review.**


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